Diary of a weary heart: Snow White and Rose Red
by albinofrog88
Summary: Chapter 9 is here. used to be called,The Diary Of A Weary Heart, tale of two sisters, twins pratically, torn apart by time and scandels.one would be forced to become Isulder's Bride, the other wood grow up to bcome the Queen of lorien.PLEASE REVIEW OR DIE
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord Of The Rings

Note: As you can tell it's in diary form.  Hope you like it! Please review.

October 27, 7384                 Margurite's Diary    DO NOT READ!

There was a time when all did not seem lost.  When elves and dwarves were not bitter and men were respected and wise.  But that has changed. The world has changed. There is no longer hope.  Even Mithrandir has left us, for he has fallen to his death. 

I fear for what will become of me, but most of all I fear for what is left of my family, who do not even know I breathe.  I've caused them too much pain.  They've thought me dead for so long I can't begin to comprehend what they think of the girl in the mirror, with their sister's face.  I often wonder if I had lived if Galadriel would be so cold. It is a hard loss to lose a sister, even one you do not truly know, but it's even harder to lose your best friend. For I felt much grief when I passed over the river of the grim reaper. And I've missed all of them so terribly…

_Please tell me if you like where this is going. If I get enough reviews I'll update soon.  If anyone has read "Too Long Ago To Be Forgotten" I am attempting to remake the story without "completely butchering Tolkien's work".  You decide, though, which version is better because I might update on the other one as well._


	2. As I begin

November 2, 7384

Dear diary forgive me, for it has taken many days to begin to write my story.  In the end, though fear won out, for if I do not write I am afraid I might burst.  The first memory you should get a sense of is when I was roughly 5 or 6. Elves age the same as humans until they reach the age of 7, so my sister was at the same level as me.

            It is a pretty picture, that memory paints in my head. Golden leaves everywhere, jumping into piles and getting them stuck in my hair.  We run around like there is no sense of time and soon some other, more braver (which means mostly boys, most of the girls in Lorion are snobby, until they begin to be tested) elves join in. It's all really fun and there is no sense of time.  It might have been days, for the treetops are always shaded and in the summer it can become hard to tell if it is night or day, if our parents hadn't come to tell us to eat, we could have stayed like that for years. My dearest, earliest memory.

            But then things began to change. It became darker than normal, not just in the sky, but also in our hearts.  We began to grow up quickly, us children of the first age of man.  There had been no other elves before us who had aged, mentally so fast.  Rumors began to come, that are sister wood, Mirkwood had been attacked. Communication was shut off, and worse no one knew why. People said giant spiders ate our messengers in Mirkwood. To this day I do not know whether it was spiders that killed them, or the fear and broken hearts brought on by the devestation they must have surely seen in Mirkwood.  For there were more bodies than even gossip could accumulate in our imagination. But enough of this, at the time we did not know what had become of Mirkwood, and we lay at night dreaming about it.

            There are other, more harsh memories in between, which I hope to one day let go, hopefully soon, but can not let go just yet. Let's jump, shall we maybe, maybe 20 yars to my 25th birthday. I still looked seven though. Everyone knew I was half-elven, they could tell by my eyes, though my mother would never admit to betraying my father. And I could see the questions in their eyes, too. No one knew who was older, only that our "parents" had given us the same month and year, one day inbetween. No one knew who was the older by a day, either because every other year we'd switch off. We were a family driven by numbers.  

            Everyone also knew half-elvens were as good as humans, when it came to ageing, until they are old enough to decide which they are to become. I always felt that sad, because if they chose to be elves, like Elrond, they lost their elven childhoods.  But I still looked young, so people pretended around me and my sister, smiling and laughing right along with us. Because they were not at all bad people, they were just too weak to avoid gossiping, and too ignorant, or foolish to know it would eventually become cruel. But not yet.  What's remarkeable about this birthday, is that I got what I wished for. Elves rarely get what they wish for.  I is a mere fancy, that wishing to the valor will get you what you want.  Similar to praying in the new religions springing up. Just a fancy.  And being half-elven (for as I got older no one could deny that I looked nothing like my father, nor did anyone in our family have green eyes for as far as we could remember, which would be very far, since we are after all elves)  did not even have the gift of the valor yet (assuming I was going to choose it, after all). I should not have gotten what I wanted but I did. I wanted a white horse, unheard of since elves did not get their elves until they were the equivilent in physical appearence to a 13 year old human (elves do not always age the same, some take longer in some stages, than others). I wanted a white baby horse with silvery hair that rode like the wind which I could call gillie!!!! Or "silver-like-wind if I decided to speak western (these are two completely different names for the horse. The first one has no meaning gillie was just easy for my young mind). I got the horse, exactly the way the one I prayed for looked like. And I hadn't told anyone I had wanted it, for fear of being laughed at. That was when I first learned it was possible, to get what I want.

_Please tell me if you like it. Orhate it. Either way I am in love with reviews.  So PLEASE review. And while your at it, if by some strange chance, you really like this story, could you read one of my other ones???? Like anyone will actually like it. But thanx for the reviews I got so far._


	3. The woman by the grave

A/N:**  Words in italics are NOT part of Margurite's Diary.**  So as not to confuse anyone.

            _A young woman, who looked like she could be anywhere between the ages of 15 and 22, kneeled at the foot of a small grave overlooking a huge field.  There was a bouquet of red, thorned, roses in front of it, a symbol of reverence and friendship, at the same time.  Her eyes filled with tears, but just as she was going to let one, just one, fall she heard the loud foot falls of another woman she knew well, behind her.  The woman at the grave did not want to be interrupted by this fool, but she was too tired and worn to be angry._

_"I didn't know you had any friends who had died", the other lady asked quietly._

_"She isn't dead". Though the woman at the grave looked sad and forlorn, this new lady could hear conviction in her words. "The flowers aren't for her, Eowyn."_

_"Then why do you put them there?", the woman known as Eowyn asked, with amusement in her voice._

_"The kingdom fell, even if she didn't.  The flowers are for the old kingdom and everyone who went down with it."_

_Before Eowyn could reply, the woman was on her feet and walking silently, but quickly away from the grave, and away from her.  But Eowyn was smart enough to wait till she was gone.  She moved the flowers to the side.  On the grave was a list of elves who had died by the hand of Laurelindorinan, the land before Lothlorien.  Foremost on the list were three names. Eowyn gasped. The first name Eowyn knew nothing about, an elf named Galadriel. But it was the second name that caught her attention. Margurite.  And then after that name, Erendil, the elf that supposedly watched over them from above._


	4. laughter becomes me

A/N: Oh my god, I didn't mean to do that!!!! Chapter 4 was supposed to be something completely different, that belongs to a different story, but you know what??? I'm just 

going to replace it with this and hope you all don't think I've gone insane. Also, I've this is **not** a slash story. Sorry. Also, this is so not a mary-sue. I thought it was one at first because I paired the term "mary-sue" with a romance. THIS CHARACTER IS NOTHING LIKE ME!!!! Believe me I wish I was even close to pretty, and I wish  had brothers and sisters (I am a lonely only-child of separated parents who insist on living next door to each other in order to make my life a living hell. My life, personally sucks.)

**Note YOU MUST READ AUTHOR'S NOTE!!!!!!!!!!**

November 3, 7384 3:p.m. western time

Dear Diary, Is it so strange to think I hear my sister calling me? To think she knows exactly where am. I do not know. Galadriel may know everything, or nothing at all.  Today the fellowship arrived in Rohan, or what's left of the fellowship anyway. Two of the hobbits are headed towards Orthanc and the other two are of course heading towards Mordor. I also know they recently passed Ithlien because Faramir, who's supposed to be my very close cousin, told me. I think I will despair and kill myself. After   all I've been dead once before.

November 3, 7384 8 p.m.

            For one in my life I am laughing.  The elven prince made me do so, but not because he's charming or funny. Because he hates me. Yes, I've created an enemy for myself out of Legolas Greenleaf prince and archer to the woodland of Mirkwood. Also, the only elf in the fellowship (which, by now consists of Gandalf _the white,_ Aragorn futrure king of men, or rotting corpse, only time can tell, Gimli son Of Gloin, a dwarf and of course Legolas.  I think it's funny Legolas should hate me, because if it is true he is the prince, then he must be son to Thranduil.  I hated Thranduil with a vengeance when I was little.  And Legolas has no reason, he just does. So very ironic to a soul who has so long lost ironacy.

            You may ask me why today's entries are happy, and I'd tell you it is because Gandalf, mythrandir is alive. But that is only because you would be speaking aloud and there is no one who speaks worth telling the truth to.  Oh dear diary, I see the visions too, for Nenya though not belonging to me anymore somehow tends to show me dreams, of the images that were in the mirrors. And today was my first vision of hope.

A/N: so it sucks, I just watched the You've got Mail on tv because I had nothing else to do. I'm in that state of mind.  Also gramatorical mistakes sadly can not be fixed once I catch them because my computer tends to erase when I'm trying to make a space with the space bar. And it does it with the delete button too… Anyway please **review!!!!**

Also, it's supposed to be fragment sentences because she's very bust that day. Oh, and please tell me how to spell Gandalf's elvish name, I'd look it up except I've lost my copy of The Lord O The Rings, and fanfic authors also make spelling mistakes too. Anyway thanks so much if you review. And if you don't my two headed cow will eat on of your heads (and become a three headed cow!!!)


	5. a little more back history

November 4, 7384

Dear Diary, How quickly things change.I think I should explain something about my former lives before I go on, without telling too much. This is going to sound strange, even ridiculous but it is truth and I am a strong believer in truth in it's most stripped down form. I loved my sister, for to us, not knowing our who was older only made us closer. (A/N: just reminding you this is not slash.) We were like twins. Indeed we could have been twin's for after our 1,000 birthday we vied to make ourselves look as similar as possible but still unique. She had blonde hair, I had honey brown. The same lengths, the same waves. Both of us had (and still have I might add) very thick long, elvish hair. Her eyes were a bright intelligent blue, and I have been told my eyes look like hers except a green version. We had similar, if not identical facial features and we grew to the exact same height. We looked very same, indeed, like two dolls painted different colors but still the same. 

Her ears were pointed. Mine were round. She performed elvish magic very well, becoming the most powerful, magic wise (though unfortunately, at the time not politically powerful) elf in Lothlorien, if not middle-earth. I was different. Of course, I was different. I was born to never be one and the same, never to be normal.

My magic may have been of the same strength, it would be hard to gauge but it was different. Dull, crimson red magic. A bad sign of my future as many thought blood colored magic would only mean betrayl. It was hard. My magic was fueled through things, like a wizaed's staff. I could power it through wood or sword and sometimes even oddly shaped objects, such as a rocking horse to delight my younger cousin's. It was all well and fun. At about one thousand (The one thing I loved about being strange was the uncertain glances and looks. I was pretty, but I had round ears, still looked young unlike wizard's would, and never chose over what race to be. This absolutely delighted me.) my grandmother set me up with lessons, along with Galadriel (and get this, Thranduil, and a very young, very timid Elrond, who was being trained to be in the royal guard but was also decided to gat lessons as it would be helpful to learn about other countries) about how to run a country. I loved my grandmother, despite her folly. We never did anything for the first 25 years of it until a new teacher, a wise man (A/N: Does anyone know what Erendil's father's name is. I know it's stupid after completely changing families around but I would like his name, or a suggestion of a name for him.) came to teache us. He taught us well. It was decided me and Galadriel would rule together, though my stomach, for some reason unbeknownst to me would twist when that was mentioned. Then I ran into Isuldur's troops lost in the woods for some damned purpose I can only guess. And here comes the part no one will believe. I wove myself into a trap so tight I had no choice but to separate into two lives, and my first one would officially end that day.


	6. my doom is shaped like rounded ears

November 3, 7384 continued 

I was beautiful, I was told, and I am sure should I take off my hood or veil or whatever else I use to cover my face, supposedly in shyness, people would say the same. Oh well, it did not help me, only hurt. I do not know what Isulder and his small army was doing in the woods that day. I was too afraid when I had the chance, to ask later on. I do not like to contemplate on it.

They were lost, maybe. That's what they said anyways. They were seeking their way back to Gondor and here was a beautiful maiden to help them find it. And of course I did, Bad, bad mistake. If I had acted on instinct I would have yelled at them and ran away too fast for them to catch up with. But weapons always scared me, promised blood shed, precious life taken away. I did not wish them too find some other arrogant elf who would refuse not knowing of the outside world that much, as I did from my lessons. So I told the. Simple. And they rode away back home. I should never have seen Isulder's face again. And for a while it seemed I never would, and I was all the more happy for it, because I had not like him, he was cocky and cruel. I attended the balls. No one would dance with me, I was the strange girl with the red magic, not pure white, like theirs but tainted as if with blood shed. But they danced with Galadriel. And it was fun.We'd laugh and make fun of her air-headed suitors and she would try to get someone to dance with me as she was dancing with people. She thought I didn't notice. But I did. It was funny. I hung out with my cousin, Gwendolyn. She was funny, sweet very similar to me in personality. She was not beautiful but pretty and rarely excepted dances when she was asked, preferring to stay with me nd crack up at Galadriel's obvious bribes to people to get elves to dance with me. Here's another thing you won't probably won't believe. It's twisted how much I'm involved in today's current event's (The ring, the people) without actually doing anything. Erendil, a was a sort of friend of mine. So when he asked me to dance, I told him I didn't want his pity. He laughed, sat down and somehow he coaxed me to dance. He was so sweet, and nice to me, the only elf outside my family to do so. He made me laugh. He wanted to be a great elven warrior and archer, and I knew looking at him he could be. And I fell. Hard. Not relizing he loved me too until it was too late. Oh Galadriel saw it, and Gwen suspected. But I never guessed. And they didn't bring it up. So every dance if we saw eachother we'd dance as friends, and laugh. And suddenly dances became more fun.

Then Isulder. Word got out he was looking for a queen in Gondor of course and there were many jokes about him. But he had already decided a long time ago. Maybe even years ago. He chose me and I freaked. He got "lost" again. This time on purpose with only five guard's accompying him. He had watched me before and I had not heard him thinking it was a bird or woodland creature. He knew where I would hide and read. He "found" me and told me he had chosen me. Stupid me for having a hiding place so far away from home. Stupid, stupid me. He old me he would rage war if he didn't catch me, and ridiculous as it sounded I looked in his eyes and saw crazed over eyes, filled with a desire I hadn't known possible. He didn't think, "elf" when he saw me. He saw a young women who must have wandered into Lothlorien and never left. He didn't know my family. He didn't know my magic. After all my ears were round. My doom in a complete circle. I did not want innocent people with families to die. A war would be ridiculous, the elves would wipe them out in an instance, yet looking at his men I saw their hearts and their children in their eyes. In a war there are always casualties. And life is precious. So I said I needed time knowing full well I'd except. I could not risk the blood my mgic looked so similar too. 

A/N: Please don't mind the spelling errors I was hurrying. The fragment sentences are on purpose as someone writing stream of conciousness might write. I know the family trees might not add up, and I've created a completely new character but if you don't like it don't read it. Anyways, it's impossible for a Tolkien purist to read or write fanfiction and enjoy it since the art of fanfiction is changing the story around. Anyways, please **review.** Tell me what you think, even flames will do since my little town near Bosten is experiencing the coldest winter in three years. Flames warm cold rooms. I hope to update soon, sorry I took so long, but I don't think anyone cared anyways. Thanks so much!!!


	7. Their point of view

She haunts our steps. The day she disappeared. Christmas in the mortal's calendars. She could have been great as any of us. We taunted her, not all of us, but Thranduil did and a couple of the powerful nobles. But we didn't wish for her to die. Or to live long years in despair, loneliness and shunned. Without her people. *Sighs* It should have been her kingdom. Theirs. Together. We keep her in our hearts and the young ones always try to find her in us. The only elf so powerful, to disappear without any hint of leaving. But then again she wasn't an elf.  But SHE WAS ONE OF US! She would have been a queen. But the hearts of men are weak and easily corrupted. And her disaperence sent rumors beyond count our way. We knew of a human in Gondor with her name, with green eyes, brown hair. But Margurite had been named Margurite on purpose. A popular human name. And too many of Gondor's people had the same hair and eye colors…

**Note: Passages in italics are not part of Margurite's diary. **I would like to say I enjoy writing this story. Which means, that just because it isn't exactly as Tolkien write things I try to make it atleast in the spirit of Middle-earth. I will be updating the next chapter soon.


	8. memories in he darkness?

Dear Diary,

   I saw the fellowship again. Mythrandir is starting to scare me, whenever he sees me, he stares really hard, as if he were judging me. Sometimes during these moments I convince myself that I knew him, way before he was Mythrandir and sometimes this feeling of familiarity doesn't go away till much later. I've started to wonder if perhaps, I did know him, but he was so young at the time that I do not recognize him? But no, every one tells me wizards crossed the sea in the form of old men. There is no way that I could've known him before. Still, the feeling does not go away. 

On another note, Eowyn's been avoiding me lately because I murmured something in my sleep that must have been in evish. Eowyn might act foolish a lot, but she I no fool. She knows what Elvish sounds like. She might even know a couple phrases. I just wonder what I said. 


	9. Gonder has died, we are doomed

A/n: sorry, I took so very long. I'm planning on updating "The Day I woke Up In a Very Scary Middle-earth as well. I hope you don't all hate me, also I thought the title change would be good. Ill explain it later.

Dear Diary,     November 5, 7384

            Dear god, I am involved once again.  Eowyn must think I am related to her somehow.  Theodren found me, but Theoden always looked on me kindly. So maybe she thinks of me as a cousin now? No matter, Theoden is back now, and now I must face the repercussions of that fact.  I was called in today, to welcome him back, and to meet the fellowship casually. Legolas, avoids me, pretending we had never talked, and Mythrandir keeps staring at me, as if I were a wizard too, hidden behind a shroud.  All the others, which only consisted of Gimli and Aragorn acted indifferently. After all, they all (with the exception of Mythrandir possibly) think of me as a little more than a cow herding farm girl, with air where her brain should be.  They smiled kindly, though and asked stupid questions. How fake Legolas acted! I could burst out laughing, in an effort to to seem kind to me for the king, he actually kissed my hand. What an idiot. He does not know me, but I do him. Or atleast how he is likely to act, as any Mirkwood elf would.  

            I hear tell that they might move us to Helm's Deep soon.  That scares me moere than anything, for they would not let me fight, even if I were better than all of them combined. Mythrandir asked me, though if I knew any elves. All this served to do though, was give Legolas and me something in commen. Shocked expressions. Why the hell would he ask me that? Maybe, Eowyn squeled to him about me speaking elvish. I will have to remember to get back at her for that.

November 7, 7384

            Dear Diary,

                        What were they thinking? Not only is Aragorn dead (there goes Gonder), but now we are trapped, as we all sit here awaiting doom.  A scout has informed us, that WAY more than 300 orcs are approaching, though he had no specific numbers. There are only 300 soldiers here, many  way to young to even pick up a sword properly. The only hope the women have, is that the orcs act mercifully and do not seek to do to our bodies, other than death.  There is a fat chance an orc would ever act mercifully. There is a fat chance I will be alive tommorow, and though I truly do not mind, I feel a stab of regret for this doomed land the horse lords own. I fear I will not get another chance to write in this journal.  The war should not be for another 4 days or so, but I have a lot of decisions to make. If a scout comes back, and the numbers are high, I am thinking of hiding in hood and cloak, and fighting as a man. It is risky, there is more of a chance I'll survive then, and it would be bad to be alive much longer during these times, atleast for me.  But I would much rather die fighting, than to be a woman at the mercy of the orcs.


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